Blogger without a topic
by IamJohnLocked1895
Summary: John is still having regular nightmares about the fall, the anniversary of Sherlock's 'death' is coming up and one morning John receives a message. who is it from, and what does it lead to? eventual JohnLock, definite fluff in later chapters. (i am terrible at summaries and titles so please don't base your opinion just on these.)
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: anything you recognise isn't mine, i'm not making any money of this (i wish), everything belongs to its respectful owner.

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The rain lashed at the window as john tossed and turned under the sheet, which was rapidly becoming tangled.

"No, Sherlock, don't" he rasped, memories flashing through his mind

_"That's what people do, isn't it? Leave a note?"_

"Note…. No" John twisted under the covers, unknowingly pulling them closer around him.

_"Goodbye John" _images were coming thick and fast now. _ Sherlock's arms outspread, his body angling closer and closer to the ground til he began to plunge downward. His coat billowing as he plummeted, arms and legs windmilling, unable to slow his descent. _

_"CRACK!" _

"NO!" John bolted upright in bed, struggling to get out of the tangled bedding that trapped him. He had had the same nightmare with unsettling regularity for close on a year now, always ending the same, with Sher- His body hitting the ground with that awful sound. He avoided mentioning his name at all if he could manage it; it always brought on the inevitable tears, crying would be to show weakness and He hated any signs of weakness.

The alarm clock told john that he had, again, awakened before his alarm. With a sigh, he reached over and turned it off, knowing he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep in the 3 or so hours before work started at 7:30. He hadn't wanted to resume anything that reminded him of Sher- Him, so his menial job of a medical clerk was merely to pay the bills for his new apartment.

He hadn't been back to 221B since the funeral. Mrs Hudson had tried multiple times to get him to return, at least to take some of his things to his new flat, but every time he thought about it he started getting flashbacks and hyperventilating. Eventually Mrs h had given up and just brought his basic things round to him. All of His things were still there; His clothes, His experiments, His skull, all set up exactly the way it had been before He left.

John realised, although he tried very hard to forget the entire event, that the first anniversary of His dea- leaving was in exactly a fortnight, which brought an intense pain somewhere in the region of his chest.

He was startled out of his musings by the sharp chime of his phone. Frowning, he checked it with something akin to curiosity; who would be sending him messages at this time? He thought, checking the time. With a shock, he realised that he had been sitting there for close on and hour and a half. He shook himself out of his stupor and began to get ready for the day, forgetting all about the text which had disrupted his random thoughts.

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Okay, this is my first attempt at writing fanfic, so please review and tell me if its any good, all reviews are welcome :) Thankyou for reading! :)


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you to those who read, and a special big thank you and hug to those who reviewed/favourited :D This chapter's a bit longer, so i hope you like it :)

Disclaimer: everything belongs to their respective owners, I'm not making any money, i only own the plot that you do not recognise.

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John sighed, his day had been unexpectedly busy, but he was glad of that, it kept his mind away from more painful topics. He placed the last file back into place and began to close up the clinic. As always, he was the last one to leave. He found that getting there early and leaving late after a full day lead him close to exhaustion, and exhaustion meant he was less likely to suffer from his usual nightmares.

Walking out, he felt a slight vibration against his thigh. Pulling his phone out, he recognised the number on the screen instantly.

"What do you want now Greg?"

"Hi John, nice to hear from you too" John sighed at the sarcastic tone in Lestrade's voice

"Sorry, it's just been a long day."

"I understand. Look, we're planning a dinner in a fortnight, for Sherl-"

"Don't say _His_ name" John growled, cutting Lestrade off.

"Okay," he said apologetically, "Sorry." But would you like to come? It's just something to remember him, and acknowledge what an absolute dickhead he was as well as a brilliant detective. You in?"

"Who do you mean by 'we'?"

"Well there obviously isn't many of us who actually believed in him, let alone liked him. So I'm afraid it'll be down to Molly, Mycroft, Mrs Hudson and myself, and you of course, if you are willing to come that is?" He left the question hanging, hopeful. John sighed again; he seemed to be doing an awful lot of that of late.

"Look, I'm sorry, but I might sit it out, I don't think I'm up -" Lestrade cut him off.

"I know how close you two were and I an see how much this has affected you, but it's the anniversary, and I don't think you should be alone. Regardless of how little we've seen of you for almost a year, we still care about you John Watson. You can't hide from this forever. Do it for him at least, even if you just stay for the toast. You need to start accepting this."

"I - I'll think about it, okay Greg? I'll get back to you on it." With that he hung up.

Glancing at his phone, he saw that he had one unread message. Puzzled, he opened it, not remembering receiving it that morning.

**14 days**

"What?" He looked up, a couple on the other side of the street gave him a curious glance; he had exclaimed quite loudly. He gave them a pass for a smile; he hadn't really smiled since the fa- the event.

Going back to the text, he tried to puzzle any meaning out of it. But the only thing that seemed of any significance was the one thing he was trying so hard to forget.

Glancing around, he saw that his feet had carried him, subconsciously, almost to Baker Street. He quickly hailed the closest cab, which, as always, ignored him. John never understood how it took him ages to get a cab, but one wave of His hand was enough to almost summon one.

Finally having caught a cab, he collapsed gratefully in the seat; his limp had come back, worse than ever and, knowing it was all in his head, thanks to _Him_, caused him to try and work through it, without the aide of his cane. He had to at least try to maintain some semblance of control although his life seemed to do its best to take it away from him.

With a jolt, the cab stopped outside the block of flats in which he now resided. It bore little to no resemblance to 221B, which was ideal to John. He paid and tipped the cabbie; he always tipped now, and gives whatever change he could to the homeless he saw around, even though his meagre income didn't allow for much. He knew how helpful the homeless network could be, after all those cases with _Him_.

Letting himself in, he limped over to the kettle and flicked it on. Opening his small fridge he noticed with a sigh that he had forgotten to get milk again. Unable to summon the energy to go out again, he simply resigned himself to having black tea.

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Thanks for reading guys :) please review, and tell me if it's any good :) I'm going to try make the third chapter a bit longer, so it might take a bit longer to put up, but I'll try to get it done in the next day of two.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey, so I procrastinated my homework (as usual) but I managed to finish the third chapter for you guys! So I hope you like it :)

Disclaimer: yada yada yada, nothing is mine, not making money, you know the drill.

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He sat down in the solitary sagging armchair and turned on the small TV set and just as soon turned it off again. He had been taken over by that familiar lethargic feeling again. The mention of the upcoming anniversary seemed to have sapped all his energy. The mere thought of anything to do with _Him_ drained the strength out of his bones, and made him collapse into the nearest seat.

He thought about the dinner he had been invited to, picturing Lestrade with his pitying expression, Mrs Hudson being all weepy, and Molly, well he couldn't really see how Molly was going to act; ever since the Event, she had been strange, almost distant, although of course, she had been interested in _Him_, so it would have affected her in a different way.

Though, John considered the strange way that she _had_ been acting; it was almost like she was guilty, of what, he couldn't say, but her reaction wasn't one of someone who had lost someone they had loved, or even been interested in. It was almost if she knew something, something about _Him_, something that was important.

"Something important…" he uttered under his breath. No, he determined, whatever it was, if it was important, she surely wouldn't have kept it to herself for all this time. Dismissing the idea, he took another sip of his now cold tea, and reached for the phone. Deciding that it would the dinner would be a most unpleasant affair, he began dialling in Lestrade's number, before he got halfway through however, his phone chimed again

**I would go if I were you**

John's hand shook. Who was this mysterious person? And how did they seem to know what he was thinking? He tried to call the number back, but it immediately told him that the cell was out of range.

"Bloody typical" he muttered. Why is it always the weird ones that you can't call back? John had gotten a few of these prank calls and texts in the months after the event, some pretending to be _Him_ and others just mocking for believing in 'the Great Sherlock Holmes'. But they always traced back to real people, real people who seemed to enjoy his misery at his best friends death. There were always a few that couldn't be traced though; the ones that always hit the hardest, the most personal. John had even tried to get Mycroft involved in these ones, but the answer was always the same.

"People do these things John, just ignore them, they will get bored eventually. Besides, we can't waste staff on mere pranks just to satisfy your hurt feelings."

But it had been months since the last one, and that had traced back, so what was happening now?

He decided to brush it off, and if anything more came he could show it to Mycroft at the dinner, if he deigned to attend. He doubted it was anything serious anyway, nothing interesting had happened to him since _it_ happened.

He sighed, again, and rose to make himself another cup of black tea, that last one's bitter taste now fully registering on his tongue. While the kettle was boiling, he searched in his tiny kitchen for anything edible. Settling on a pitiful dinner of stale noodles, he laughed humourlessly to himself; after all that time trying to get _Him_ to take care of _His_ body, or 'transport', he wasn't setting that much of a good example. Not that there was anyone to set an example for anymore. His dry laughter faded into the silence that seemed to occupy the darkest corners of his tiny flat.

What was he doing? _He_ would never have reacted this way, and certainly not for so long if John had died. Hell, _He_, wouldn't have had this reaction for anyone, let alone him.

With a slight wince, he remembered calling the man a machine, and the devastating event that happened after. He hope that _He_ didn't still think about that, wherever _He_ was, John hated the idea of _Him_ thinking that John thought that about him, even though he knew it was impossible, there is no life beyond death. With his chest constricting, he though about that day, after the funeral, everyone else had already left, it was just the two of them. No, it wasn't even the two of them. It was just John. It would always be just John now.

_"You... you told me once... that you weren't a hero. Umm... There were times I didn't even think you were human, but let me tell you this. You were the best man, the most human... human being that I've ever known and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, so... there. I was so alone... and I owe you so much. But please, there's just one more thing, one more miracle, Sherlock, for me, don't be... dead."_

A choked sob echoed through the almost empty flat; shuddering, John realised that tears were streaming down his face, soaking into the collar of his jumper. He furiously wiped his face; it wouldn't do to get back into _that_ stage. The stage where he never left the flat, never spoke, didn't even make eye contact. Just sat there, not eating, acting for all the world as if he had died too.

It was Mary that had finally gotten him out of it. She started taking care of him, making sure he ate, kept warm so that he didn't get sick, and slowly, slowly he began to come round. He started leaving the flat, at first just to buy the groceries, then out to the movies and for dinners. She broke it off a month later.

_"I think its best that we go back to just being friends John" her voice was soft, gentle._

_"What? Why?" John was puzzled, but he couldn't exactly say that he was upset about it._

_"I know that you would be a great partner, and you try to be, but I'm not the person that you were made for. I know that you are still torn up over Sherlock." John flinched, and eyeing him sadly, she continued." and that you love him, it doesn't matter if 'you're not gay', you know you do. And I love you, but as a friend, and I think that it would be better for the both of us. I'm sorry." She looked at him expectantly, slightly worried._

_"I think friends would be good" he gave her a slight twitch of his lips that could have passed for a smile._

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So this it the longest chapter yet and yay! Two chapters in one day! And i hope you liked it :) Please review and tell me what you think, thanks for reading! :D


	4. Chapter 4

Hi guys! Finally finished chap 4, sorry about the wait, i had a beginning and an end and i had no idea how to match them up, hope it's okay :)

Disclaimer: you know the drill, i own nothing yada yada yada.

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/two_ weeks later/_

John stood outside the pub, uncomfortably shifting his weight from one foot to the other; his limp had gotten much worse, in just the last week it seemed. He glanced at his phone, 6:58pm; they'd agreed to meet up at 7 for the anniversary dinner and drinks. he hoped they wouldn't be too much longer, his leg was starting to pain him.  
To waste a bit of time he flicked through his messages; he'd received one each day for the past two weeks;

**14 days.**

**13 days.**

**12 days.**

And so on. This morning he had woken to the now familiar text alert chime.

**Tonight.**

He had debated going to Mycroft multiple times, but put it off. It wasn't like they were threatening, or even particularly intimidating. Besides, he would be seeing him tonight, if he even cared enough to come.

"John! Good to see you mate; didn't think that you would actually come. Good to see you." John attempted a smile; it came out as closer to a grimace, and shook Lestrade's hand.

"John." Mycroft inclined his head politely.

"Huh, so he did come." John muttered under his breath. "Mycroft." Returning the gesture.

"Hi John," was it just his imagination, or did Molly seem even more jittery than normal tonight?

"Hi Molly, how are you?" he gave her a warm hug. He frowned; she had gotten thin.

"Well as can be expected John, with the circumstances. Bart's is still got its usual business to run" she shrugged, electing to ignore the John's flinch at the mention of Bart's.

"Well," he cleared his throat, glancing self-consciously at the pubs open door, "should we get this started then?"

As they walked in, John, glanced around; he had an uncomfortable prickling feeling that they were being watched. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he brushed it off and sat down at their table.

"So how has work been John?" Lestrade asked in an attempt to dispel the slightly awkward silence that had fallen over the group, "keeping you busy by the sounds of it"

They made idle chatter while they waited for their food to arrive, John still couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. He glanced around again.

"What are you looking for John? You've been glancing around every few minutes for the past half an hour."

"Hmm? Oh it's nothing Greg, just wondering when our foods going to get her- Oh look at that, here it is." He coughed nervously; hoping no one had noticed that he was talking a little too fast.  
He noticed Molly looking at him a little odd, but she obviously thought nothing of it and turned to her risotto. Glad for the distraction of food, he ordered another drink, quickly swallowing the last of his first one

He knew he shouldn't have agreed to come, it was worse than he imagined, although at least they were reliving the 'glory days' before the fal- the event. Why did he even think this was a good idea?

_He sighed, wiping a hand tiredly over his face. He knew that Lestrade was still waiting on his reply. It had been a week since he first brought it up. He thought over the text he had gotten._

**_I would go if I were you._**

_He decided to go, it couldn't be worse than what's already happened could it? It may be better to just grit his teeth and bear it, it would at least appease Lestrade._

_He reached for the phone, dialling his number he hoped he wasn't making a huge mistake._

_"Hey Greg, what time and where?"_

_"John! So you've decided to join us then? Good on you, it's Friday, 7pm at the pub near the station. We're going to have dinner then a few drinks and toasts after. Glad you can make it. It will be good to see you."_

_"Thanks for the invite Greg. I'll see you then."_

_"Great, if we're not there when you are, we'll meet up at the door."_

_John hung up, hoping he hadn't just made a mistake. _

"Fancy another drink John?" John started, "My shout."

"Um, no thanks; still got half of one here." Lestrade nodded and turned to Mycroft, beginning a conversation that sounded utterly disinteresting. He turned back, inadvertently catching Molly's eye. She immediately ducked her head, but not before John caught the expression on her face. It looked almost… guilty? Now that he thought about it, it did seem like she had been acting guilty, she had been awfully quiet during the dinner too. He was going to ask her about it when their attention was diverted by Lestrade.

"Okay, um, ahem!" Lestrade cleared his throat, "Now that we've finished dinner, I think we should get down to the business of why we're actually here. I'll start the toasts shall I?" he looked around,

"Go ahead Greg" John encouraged, even though he would have liked anything but. He almost considered making a run for it.

"No objections? Okay." Greg took a deep breath and began; he had obviously rehearsed this many times. "On this day, exactly a year ago, we lost a fantastic detective, a brilliant investigator. We are here tonight to remember that person. A year ago today, Sherlock Holmes died."

He barely had time to take a breath for the next sentence before there was a chorus of buzzes, chimes and rings, from all of their phones. They looked at each other and slowly pulled them out, Molly's hand trembling as she opened it. They all looked at the solitary word on their screens. The blood drained from John's face.

**Wrong.**

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So I hope you liked it! read and review, tell me what you think. You know, without you there's no point to this story :P


	5. Chapter 5

Im so sorry for the long wait guys, but i have exams next week so I've made this one extra long so you wont be as mad at me for not updating over the next week or so.

**Edit:** i just re-read this and realised i completely forgot to finish one part, so i've added it in :)

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"John. John! I think he's starting to come round, give him some air. Um excuse me! Could I get a glass of water please?" John groaned, his head pounding. Why was he on the floor?

"Wha- what's goin' on?" he mumbled

"You fainted John, and hit your head on the floor." Molly's voice was gentle, soothing. "Woah there, you could have a concussion, I don't think that's best – Wait!" he had tried to stand up, "take it slow John, just sitting up, gently, that's good." She handed him a glass of water. He took it slowly, staring at the trembling liquid.

"How long was I out?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Not long, only a few minutes. It was right after you checked your phone-"

"The text!" he shouted, suddenly remembering, "What happened?! What was that?!"

"John, there's something you have to know. Something about him. About Sherlock. I'm sorry John, but I couldn't tell you, I couldn't tell any of you. The only person that knew was Mycroft."

"Molly. What. Did. He. Do?" John's voice was low, dangerous.

"He – he faked it. His d – death. He didn't tell me that much about it but I gathered that he had to do it or something; something terrible was going to happen. He made me swear not to tell you. I'm so sorry John." She looked at him, pleading.

"So all those times, all those MONTHS spent miserable, and he couldn't even give me a bloody SIGN that he was alive?! He voice had risen considerably.

"John please, people are looking" Mrs Hudson whispered. He gave her an apologetic look

"Well where the bloody hell is he then? Mycroft? I assume you know, after all you were in on it the whole time." He said, almost spitting the last words at him.

"I'm here John" John's eyes widened. That voice, the same as he remembered, yet tinged with tiredness and … sadness? He slowly turned around; suddenly scared that this was all a dream, and that as soon as he saw him he would vanish.

"Yes, it really is me." He looked the same; except for a few more sleep deprivation lines around his eyes; he hadn't been taking care of himself, as usual. He opened his mouth again, probably to tell John off, something along the lines of 'Don't just stand there, gawking. Do something!'. He rocked back under the weight of the punch John had just directed to his jaw.

"You BASTARD! A year! A blasted, sodding year! You didn't even send me a bloody TEXT!" "Tonight." Sherlock gently prodded at his jaw, the punch had had some force behind it.

"Yes, no shit Sherlock! 'Tonight'. God, you are such an infuriating arsehole. Christ I've missed you." With that he wrapped the taller man in a bone-crunching hug. He felt Sherlock stiffen slightly, but then his arms wrapped slowly around John, gently.

They broke apart when a cough from Mycroft reminded them that they weren't alone.

"You still haven't told me **why** yet. Why or **how**? **Why** was it necessary to jum- to make me think that you had died? **How** did you even do it?! You had no pulse Sherlock! And last time I checked, that means dead! **Why** did you keep me in the dark about this? **Why** did you put me through all those months of misery Sherlock?!" Johns voice had risen substantially; people at he bar were glancing over curiously.

"John please calm down"

"Oh shut up Lestrade" Lestrade looked hurt, and more than a little annoyed.

"John, you must believe me when I tell you this, please. I meant you no harm, I swear, I **swear** that I will tell you everything, just give me a chance. What I did, I did to save you, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade. Moriarty –" John broke in,

"So he was real wasn't he? I knew that I was right, that **you** were right. I knew that you were real." At the look on Sherlock face he rapidly continued, "well yes of course you're **real**, I meant that you weren't a fake."

"Yes, I knew you meant that. Moriarty was real. Certainly real enough to have assassins trained on you, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade. He was planning you shooting you all unless I killed myself." Sherlock hoped no one had noticed his slight wince at the thought of John's death, though it was doubtful; none of them ever noticed anything anyway

"Moriarty let slip that he had a code to call off the assassins, but when i confronted him about it, he shot himself in the head, preventing me from extracting it from him to save you. so I had no choice but to jump then... I couldn't risk you being killed." John swallowed thickly, he didn't want to make eye-contact with Sherlock. Thankfully Lestrade cut short the silence.

"So… how did you survive then?" Lestrade asked, the question that they all wanted to know the answer to.

"With a little help from our Molly" he directed a warm look towards her, and John felt an unfamiliar pang in his chest.

"She arranged my John Doe, and as for the missing pulse, you remember the small rubber ball I had? That placed under the arm made my pulse extremely hard to find, especially for you in your disorientated state. I arranged for one of my homeless network to knock you down, making sure you hit your head."

"That was you? That bloody hurt."

"I am sorry." He said with what seemed to be genuine regret. He looked in askance at John, who nodded to him to continue. "While you were down, I arranged the blood packs around my head and concealed the ball under my arm."

"Okay, now we understand how you duped us all, but how did you survive the actual fall?" Lestrade asked, looking from Molly to Sherlock.

"Molly had arranged for a soft landing; a truck filled with linen and other such stuff as to break the fall. The body that you saw hit the ground was a dummy, which I replaced with myself when you were down." He looked around, "so, um, that's it then"

John frowned, in all the time he had known Sherlock, he had never seen him so insecure and … nervous?

"It was you wasn't it? All those texts for the past two weeks?" John asked

"Yes, it seems that I unfortunately have a slight weakness for being melodramatic, as Mycroft has already told me. However, I wanted to alert you to the fact that something was going to happen tonight, although it doesn't appear that you had deduced any meaning from them." Sherlock stopped, "What?"

"Nothing" John smiled inwardly, Sherlock had obviously noticed his own nervousness and attempted to return to his normal self. It made John feel… comfortable, an unfamiliar sensation; he hadn't really been comfortable since before the fall.

"We'll leave you guys to get 're-acquainted' then, coming Molly?" Lestrade said, standing up and making his way to the door; it was now nigh on 10 o'clock.

"I must be off too, I will say however, that it will be good having you back again little brother; the criminals have been getting away with an awful lot lately." With that Mycroft strode purposefully towards the door and went off to his waiting transport.

"Did you boys want to move back into 221B then? I've kept it free just in case, you know, you wanted to move back in John."

"That would be lovely Mrs Hudson."

"I haven't thrown out or moved anything of yours Sherlock, except for those horrible things in my fridge, and whatever the devil was in the microwave." Sherlock grinned. "Oh I am glad you are back Sherlock. I've missed you boys so much, and John has missed you terribly"

"Mrs Hudson –"

"I know, nonsense talking as always. I'll be off then, I'll catch my own cab back; you two will have a lot to talk about" she waved to them at the door.

Turning to Sherlock, John found himself struggling for what to say. He was grateful when Sherlock started to speak.

"So, shall we head back to Baker Street then?" Sherlock offered. For once, John didn't flinch at the sound of his old flat. Sherlock smiled warmly.

"Sure" John smiled back.

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Review guys, i love for them! also i love the amount of views this has, thank you guys. I will attempt to write something over the rest of the week, but i probably wont update until after my exams, so in a fortnight or so. Sorry! Hope the length of this chapter makes up for that somehow.


	6. Chapter 6 - Pub scene - Sherlock's pov

Okay, I wanted to give you guys another update before I went on exam hiatus, but I don't really have enough time to write another full one, so this chapter is just the pub scene, but from Sherlock's pov. Hope you like it (please tell me what you think, and if I should do any more of these pov things). The next chap will probably be the reunion for Sherlock's pov if you guys like this.

Disclaimer: again, nothing is mine blah blah blah.

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Tonight was the night. His nimble fingers flashed over the buttons, writing the last text to john before he would see him tonight.

**Tonight.**

He hoped that john would have read into these messages even just a little bit, and realised that **something **was going to happen tonight, even if he hadn't considered the fact that it might be from his 'dead' best friend.

Looking at the time, he began to pull on his signature coat. He had to get to the pub before any of the others, and he knew that john would be punctual, if not early. He winced as he stretched slightly too much. He checked the still healing wound on his side, it hadn't started bleeding again he saw, sighing with relief. He quickly resumed getting dressed and headed out.

Stepping out of his cab, he looked around; good. John wasn't here yet. He pulled out his phone and clicked it to display the time; 6:30, all going according to plan so far.

He got a solitary table in one of the darker corners, with a clear view of both the door and the reserved table he knew to be john's.

He didn't have to wait long before john arrived. Instead of going in, john lingered around the door, presumably waiting for the others to arrive. Sherlock studied him, he had gotten thinner since he had last seen him. The bags under his eyes had gotten deeper, and his face had formed new lines, of grief and sadness. He looked worriedly at johns eyes, they looked so listless. Sherlock felt a twinge of guilt and sadness. It was his fault that john was looking so … sad and empty. He hoped that he hadn't been too long in delaying his return.

When the others arrived, Sherlock moved deeper into his corner, relying on the dim light to disguise him from the gaze of the group. He watched john as they walked in, drinking in the sight of his friend. Mycroft gave a slight inclination of his head towards his corner, Sherlock looked back coolly.

He sat nervously during the meal, flickering glances towards the table (and john) every few seconds, waiting for the opportunity to be able to speak to him, and dispel the lingering cloud of grief that hovered over him.

Looking around at the others, he noted that, while they didn't look different exactly, they all seemed slightly more subdued and tired, except Mycroft, who never displayed anything resembling emotion. Molly in particular looked rather strained. He felt that small twinge again; it really wasn't fair to her to expect her to keep this secret, and then disappear for a year. He would make it up to her, somehow; he had treated her so badly before, her owed her so much too. Lestrade caught his eye, by the slight nervousness he could see in his eyes Sherlock knew that he was about to make a speech, **the** speech; his queue (not that Lestrade knew that of course). Sherlock focused intently; he wanted to do this exactly right, he knew it was melodramatic and a bit silly (as Mycroft had told him countless times) but he couldn't help himself.

"Okay, um, ahem!" He cleared his throat, "Now that we've finished dinner, I think we should get down to the business of why we're actually here. I'll start the toasts shall I?" he looked around,

"Go ahead Greg" John said, though it was obvious (at least to Sherlock) that he was not in the slightest bit enthusiastic about this. Sherlock opened his phone and readied it.

"No objections? Okay." Greg took a deep breath and began; he had obviously rehearsed this many times, much like Sherlock had with his own preparations. "On this day, exactly a year ago, we lost a fantastic detective, a brilliant investigator. We are here tonight to remember that person. A year ago today, Sherlock Holmes died."

**Wrong.**

This was it. His queue. One click of a button and the message was sent. He knew he couldn't let the pause between the speech and the text be too long, the timing had to be exactly right.

With the text alerts from their phones diverting their attention from Lestrade's somewhat average speech, Sherlock watched only one person. John.

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Okay, so tell me what you guys think! I'm not sure if i'll have time to upload chap 7 before my next exam, but i'll see what i can do. Remember, reviews feed the writer!


	7. Chapter 7

Okay, I've decided to just continue it, rather than do another pov chapter, one because I really feel like continuing it, and two, because I'm not really good at the pov thing. I am soooo sorry about the long wait for this one guys, I've had school and exams and a severe case of writer's block. I hope you like this chapter :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my continued plot line, anything you recognise from the show is not mine.

* * *

It had gotten awkward during the cab ride back to Baker Street, after John's small blow-up at Sherlock he hadn't really known what to say. The bruise that had begun to form on Sherlock's jaw served as a reminder to him, and he spent most of the cab ride in silence, occasionally opening his mouth to say something, then not knowing what to say, shutting it again. He was sure that Sherlock would have said something by now, but he seemed content to sit out the ride in silence.

John was thankful now that he hadn't picked up the rest of his things; he at least had something to wear for the night and the following day. He was still slightly dazed from the events of the night; it still hadn't properly sunk in that Sherlock was back, not only alive, but **back**, with him.

He mechanically got dressed for bed and, suddenly bone tired; fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

It was his first night without nightmares for a year.

~_break_~

The next morning found a very confused and bewildered John Watson. He had woken up, feeling rested for once, and then sat bolt upright. Where was he? And if he was where he seemed to be, why was he here? Then last night rushed back to him; the dinner, the speech, the text, and **him** – Sherlock.

"Sherlock! " John shouted in a panic, afraid that it was all a dream, but if it was, why was he at Baker Street? He shouted again, his voice almost strangled with panic; he needed to know, to **see** if he was there, if he was real, "Sherlock! –" He hurriedly untangled himself from his sheets and flung open his door; the sight of what lay behind rendering him speechless. Sherlock was in the kitchen, in nothing but his old pyjamas, apparently trying to cook breakfast. He had turned towards John's room in response to John's shouts, leaving whatever it was smoking slightly on the stove.

John's body sagged with relief; he was there. Sherlock was alive. Sherlock was alive, and with him. He looked up at Sherlock again, the detective's expression was puzzled, slightly concerned, then his gaze softened slightly; he had figured it out, as he always did.

"Um, Sherlock?" John gestured towards the now heavily smoking pan behind him. With a startled exclamation Sherlock raced to the stove and put the pan in the sink.

"So, what's this all about then?"

"All what?" the detectives tone was slightly defensive, though he clearly knew what John was referring to. John gave him a steady look, secretly thrilled that he could actually look at him and speak to him now.

"You know, cooking breakfast?" he glanced at the blackened pan in the sink, "well attempting to anyway."

"I wanted to show you how truly sorry I am about my absence, and the pain it has caused you." His tone was contrite, apologetic, and most surprisingly, sincere. John's brow creased; what had happened to the usually abrasive detective? John could count on one hand the number of sincere apologies that Sherlock had ever given, at least in the time he had known him. Sherlock continued, " I realise that I have been… unpleasant, to live with, then there was the business of faking my death and leaving you for a year. I am trying to make myself a better roommate, a better person. If you want to leave, or if you want me to leave however, I won't oppose your decision. I understand" his eyes were slightly downcast. John was aghast; Sherlock would never have done this before, why was he so .. so insecure and down on himself?

"What? No! Sherlock, I lived with you for over a year, do you really think that I'm going to leave you now? Not after you being dea- gone for a year. I'm here to stay Sherlock, and you damn well better be too."

"Thank you John." This too was sincere. What had happened to him? John coughed uncomfortably.

"How about we go out for breakfast then?" John suggested.

" I think that sounds wonderful." Sherlock smiled.

~_break_~

"So what have you been up to then? While you were… away?" John asked between sips of his café tea, which he couldn't help but notice was less pleasant than the one he had at home with Sherlock. Sherlock looked pensive.

"Hmmm, where to start. Well you know that I mentioned how Moriarty had assassins trained on you, Mrs Hudson, and Lestrade?" at this Sherlock had to pause and take a sip of his tea, his throat must be dry, he rationalised, that's the only reason he could feel a strange sort of lump in it. John nodded at him to continue.

"When you got the call about Mrs Hudson being shot, I knew we didn't have much time, he had to have something planned. And if Mrs Hudson had really been shot, Mycroft would have alerted instantly." With a wince, John remembered how he had shouted at the man when he was leaving, how he called him a machine. He hoped Sherlock didn't remember, or at least didn't take it in.

"So after you left, I quickly arranged with Molly to get everything ready in the event that something should happen, I didn't expect that it would be so soon, so I didn't have as much time as I needed to rectify everything. I texted him to meet up on the roof, I figured that with the code I could erase all records of Rich Brooke, which incidentally means Reichenbach in German, and prove that Moriarty was real, thus clearing my name.

Needless to say, it didn't quite work out that way. The code wasn't a code at all" John broke in,

"But the assassins that were living near us, they believed that he had given you something, something with the code on it"

"The reason they had to keep me alive was because the supposed 'code' was in my head. You understand the principal of binary right?" John nodded, "I believed that Moriarty had given me the code by way of his tapping, each pause a 0 and each tap a 1."

"But that wasn't right?"

"No, apparently it was simply the beat of a song. The entire code was a fake. All the break –ins were possible because of bought people. Weak-willed, bribed people. A simple trick.

Moriarty then informed me for the plan to assassinate all of you" he took another sip of tea and swallowed hard, the lump was back. "Unless of course,"

"You killed yourself." John finished, also swallowing hard.

"But he made a mistake, he believed that I was ordinary, and he let slip that he had a code to call off the assassins. Then I made a mistake, on confronting him about it, it left him with no other alternative, so he shot himself. Everything was happening so fast, I thought I would have more time to figure it out, but I had no time left then. I knew by then that you would have discovered that Mrs Hudson was unharmed, and would no doubt be on your way back to Bart's. So I called you. You must believe me, I never wanted to hurt you, I never intended for you to witness that, but I needed to keep you in my sight, and make sure that the assassins believed that I was going to kill myself. You had to believe that I was dead, I had to make sure that you were safe, and although you were miserable, you were alive, and that's what mattered." John was startled to see tears, actual tears, in the detective's eyes.

"You remember what you said before you left to go to Mrs Hudson?" John remembered everything.

"Friends protect people," he murmured.

"Yes." Sherlock said.

"As soon as I knew that you were safe and that everyone, except Molly and Mycroft, knew me to be dead, I left. I had to disable Moriarty's web. With any part of it still active I knew that you, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade would never be safe. That's why I was gone so long. I was making sure that when I returned, I would have no reason to fear for any of your safeties. I also sent any evidence I could to Mycroft to compile enough to clear my name. Now that I am back, that can be done in full, although Moriarty was proven 'real' about four months ago, you remember the papers?"

"I was wondering what took them so long to be honest."

"I arrived back in London two weeks ago, that was when I began sending the texts. I know that it was a bit silly and melodramatic, as Mycroft has told me, but I was curious as to what you would do, if you would figure it out, or think it was something more sinister. I am pleased to see that you simply ignored it, besides the initial attempt to contact the sender."

"I thought it might have something to do with you, coming up to the anniversary I figured that I would start getting those messages again. I got so many in the first month or so after the event." Then another thing came to John's mind, " Who did you stay with while you were travelling? Someone had to have helped you with your contact to Mycroft."

"Ms Adler. She was most helpful in the arrangement of the correct information to the correct people." John wasn't as surprised as he normally would have been, she had faked her death once before, there was no reason why she couldn't do it again. But perhaps more distracting than the idea of her being alive was the thought of her being with Sherlock. John felt a sharp stab of jealousy at the mention of her. What was he thinking? They couldn't be _involved_; Sherlock didn't feel that way about anyone. But the little annoying voice inside his head reminded him of how Sherlock had reacted when he thought she had died, the first time. No, he shook it off; she was nothing more than a distraction to him. As soon as she revealed that she was in love with him, he disregarded her. It must have just been convenient while he was travelling.

"I'm glad you're back Sherlock." Was all that John said out loud.

"I'm glad I am too John." Sherlock's expression softened, and he smiled. A real smile. The one John loved to see. He could tell that things were starting to look up.

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So there it is guys, the next chapter. Its got a hint of the future JohnLock in it too, so I hope you liked that. Let me know what you thought of it, please review! I like to know if any of you actually like what I'm putting up or are just reading it because its there (also let me know if you spot any mistakes, I don't have a beta or anything so I'm just using spell check, but it sometimes misses things, so let me know). Love you guys :D


	8. Chapter 8

Okay, another chapter for you guys. Sorry for the wait again, it's the last week of school and for some reason the teachers are sadistic and decided to put a whole load of assignments and tests. But anyway, here it is, hope you like it.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my continued plot line; anything you recognise from the show is not mine.

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_One week later_

As soon as John woke up he knew something was wrong; for the past week he had woken to the sound of Sherlock moving about the kitchen, shifting through his papers and doing experiments, all the usual noises of him being a pain in the arse genius. But today, something was different. He heard a slight hiss, something like the sound one makes when in pain and trying to be quiet, he also heard a strange tearing sound, like someone was ripping up sheets, or…

"Sherlock? Is that you?" he called, slowly getting up and reaching for something to use as a weapon, all the time he had lived with Sherlock before had caused him to be prepared for any situation, but in his absence John had grown lax again.

"Sherlock?" he called again, the sounds had stopped.

"Yes John?" John breathed a sigh of relief and put back the sturdy coat-rack pole that he had picked up.

"What are you doing? It's not another one of those experiments where you destroy the furniture is it?" if it was John was going to bloody strangle the man, it had taken them a month last time to replace or fix everything.

"No John, just thinking." Sherlock fought hard to keep the slight strain out of his voice. His knife wound had started bleeding again, and looked infected. He picked up the strips of cloth he had ripped up and started measuring them around his torso. Why hadn't he seen to the cut when he first got it? He furiously, and silently, berated himself. He hadn't thought it was that bad really, it was only a centimetre or so deep, and not too wide, but it was long; it stretched down from the middle of his ribs to just before his hips. Sherlock decided to try and close it before he wrapped it up fully, hopefully that would slow the bleeding more. Retrieving the medical kit and the sterile strips he thanked John silently in his head, trust him to always be prepared. When he went to apply them however, he accidentally slipped and pushed on one of the edges, he couldn't help the agonised gasp that broke through his lips.

"Sherlock, are you okay? What was that?" Sherlock could hear John's footsteps making their way towards the bathroom door. Quickly, he abandoned the idea of the strips and simply wrapped up the wound as tight as he could, attempting to stop the slight whimpers and flinches from escaping him. He finished and cleaned up just in time.

"Sherlock, you better not be wrecking the bathroom." John said as he began to open the door, hoping he wasn't interrupting the detective in the middle of getting dressed (but also secretly hoping he was). He fully opened the door and looked in, slightly disappointed to see Sherlock calmly washing his hands.

"Oh."

"Yes John?" he said, raising one eyebrow quizzically, damn him! John had been trying to do that for ages, with no success. "As you can quite clearly see, I am not in the process of destroying the flat."

"Okay then Sherlock, but you know that I do have a very valid reason to worry about that." John shook his head and closed the door, heading off to make his usual morning cuppa. As soon as the door closed, Sherlock sagged with relief. He lifted up his shirt and examined the area carefully. He hadn't had the time to properly wrap the cut, and it had started bleeding through the bandages, staining them a dark red. He leaned against the sink, sighing, and rewrapped the bandages.

He carefully manoeuvred his way out and to his usual spot on the couch, avoiding twisting too much and causing the cut to bleed more. He had barely sat down when he noticed his laptop, on the other side of the room. He debated getting up again and rose up slightly in preparation to stand, but the sharp pain shooting through his side made him reconsider.

"John, could you pass me my laptop?"

"It's just across the room Sherlock, go get it yourself." Came the annoyed reply from the kitchen. Sherlock sighed,

"_Please_?" he put the least amount of sarcasm he could into it; he really needed his laptop, and he couldn't twist that way without considerable pain.

"Goddamnit, you aren't started this again are you? Okay, I'll pass it to you this time, you're damn lucky that I'm not busy." He sighed and fetched Sherlock's laptop from across the room, noting as he did that it was only about 7 feet away. He passed it to Sherlock, barely noticing the faint exhaled "thanks" in response.

"Okay I'm going out. We are, again, out of milk. Please try not to blow up the flat while I'm gone." Sherlock gave no indication of having heard. John sighed and left, he was probably going to be in the same position when he returned, be it half and hour or half a day.

Getting back John cursed, he should have thought to turn some outside lights on; he ignored the fact that he had only intended to be an hour or so. He had bumped into Molly and went out for a quick lunch, which then turned into quite a long catch-up session, with Lestrade being at the same pub they went to. Fumbling he attempted to unlock the door in the dim light, struggling not to drop the groceries as he did so.

Finally managing it he tiredly opened the door and slowly shuffled up the stairs. Not noticing the almost eerie quiet until he reached the door. He walked in and noticed immediately that Sherlock had not turned any lights on. He turned to put the bags in the kitchen and froze. The bags fell, milk splashing on the floor.

"SHERLOCK!"

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Okay, I'm sorry for the cliffhanger, but if you reviews, you get a sneak preview of the next chapter :D so, review guys! And thanks for reading this (even though I haven't updated in like two weeks :/) I love you all :)


	9. Chapter 9

Hi guys, I finally got around to reading The Infernal Devices series again, although it was the first time that I've read the last one, and it cut up my heart all to little pieces. If you haven't read them, I do recommend them, and The Mortal Instruments too. Each chapter begins with a poem, and as poems are quite lovely, I decided to do the same with my chapters. This one begins with Pablo Neruda's 'Perhaps not to be is to be without your being.' I hope you like this one, it's got the first bit of major JohnLock in it! :D

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my continued plot line, anything you recognise from the show is not mine. I do not own the poem either, that belongs to Pablo Neruda.

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_Perhaps not to be is to be without your being,  
without your going, that cuts noon light  
like a blue flower, without your passing  
later through fog and stones,  
without the torch you lift in your hand  
that others may not see as golden,  
that perhaps no one believed blossomed  
the glowing origin of the rose,  
without, in the end, your being, your coming  
suddenly, inspiringly, to know my life,  
blaze of the rose-tree, wheat of the breeze:  
and it follows that I am, because you are:  
it follows from 'you are', that I am, and we:  
and, because of love, you will, I will,  
We will, come to be._

* * *

Beep Beep

Beep Beep

Beep Beep

Beep Beep

Beep Beep

Beep Beep

The only sound that filled the small room was the sound of the machine, continuously reminding John that Sherlock's heart was beating, that he was alive. He kept watching the subtle movement of the detective's chest, terrified that it would stop.

The door opened quietly, disrupting John's concentration on Sherlock's steady breaths. Mycroft slipped into the room, as always, carrying his trademark umbrella.

"The doctor's tell me he's stable," he said, in that quiet voice one uses around the hospital bed. John, unable to speak with his throat constricted, just nodded.

"They also told me that he may not wake up for about another day or two, but knowing Sherlock, it'll probably be sooner."

Mycroft looked at Sherlock, opened his mouth again, then shut it and shook his head, "Well, I'll see you later John."

Mycroft seemed a little more emotional that usual, which was to be expected he supposed. John knew now why he had seemed so … cold at Sherlock's fall before, as he had been in on the entire thing, well, after the first day or so at least. Now was another story, Sherlock had actually been dying. John felt the lump in his throat rise and swell at the thought.

John moved his chair closer to the bed and held the his hand, he knew that if the detective were awake, and all senses were functioning properly that he would not be able to do this.

"You probably can't hear me, or maybe you can, I don't know," here John paused and passed his other hand over his eyes, he had known this for some time, not realising it until Sherlock had nearly left him, again. He had felt it, and known it, but actually saying it? That was another thing altogether. He sighed and began again, "Sherlock, I know you don't, well, relish, the idea of relationships, and I know that this isn't going to result in anything, but I can't stand another moment without telling you, even though you're in a com- asleep, and probably can't hear me anyway." John took a deep breath, "Sherlock, I … I love you."

John stared at the detectives face, looking for any change in expression or any sign of movement but there was none. He relaxed, but he couldn't help the small stab of disappointment that Sherlock hadn't responded. He knew it was silly, he was meant to sleep for at least another day or so; his injury had nearly claimed his life, although the actual wound wasn't much to look at.

He kept his eyes fixed on the detective's closed ones, noting how pale, almost translucent his eyelids were, how had he never noticed that before? How had he never appreciated every little thing about him? Finally, with all the exhaustion of the day catching up to him, eyes began to droop and his head nodded onto his chest. His hand was still holding Sherlock's.

John's mind drifted straight into the one thing he didn't want.

_He tiredly opened the door and slowly shuffled up the stairs. Not noticing the almost eerie quiet until he reached the door. He walked in and noticed immediately that Sherlock had not turned any lights on. He turned to put the bags in the kitchen and froze. The bags fell, milk splashing on the floor._

_"SHERLOCK!_

_The detective was lying on the ground between the kitchen and the living room, but what caught John's eye was the slowly widening pool of blood coming from the region of his chest. The detective's eyes were flickering from side to side, his eyelids almost shut._

_He frantically dialled for Bart's and rushed over to turn him over._

_"Sherlock? Sherlock, stay with me now. Please you have to stay with me now. Please!" _

_"John, yes what is it?"_

_"Molly! Molly oh god you have to help me, it's Sherlock! He's bleeding and I think he's dying, his pulse is very faint and rapid oh god we don't have much time please!" his voice raced desperately. Why couldn't they just be there already?_

_"What's he bleeding from John? Where is it?" her voice sounded just as panicked. John lifted up the blood-soaked shirt and gasped. "John? John! What is it?!" John immediately applied pressure to the gash._

_"He…" for a moment his voice failed him, then the army doctor in him took over, "he has an eight, maybe ten, inch laceration on his abdomen, middle of ribs almost to hips. Doesn't look too deep, maybe a centimetre, two, and not too wide, but its infected, and bleeding steadily." His composure broke, "Molly please!" _

_"John, I've already sent a team over, and Mycroft has been texted, so he'll smooth over everything and ensure that Sherlock has the best care" she had barely finished the sentence when John could see flashing lights outside the window._

_"Thank you oh god thank you Molly" his head sagged onto his chest. He could hear the steps thundering. "Oh god hurry please" he muttered, still holding onto Sherlock's chest, as if he could force the cut shut and Sherlock would wake up, healthy, and alive._

_He rode in the ambulance with him, holding his hand as the paramedics moved quickly around him. It was unspoken but everyone knew that there would be no separation between John and his detective. His head was on his chest, muttering for Sherlock to 'please stay, please, stay with him'. Suddenly a new sound in the ambulance made John's head snap up and his face drained of colour. The rapid beepbeepbeep of the monitor had flattened into one long line. He knew what that meant, everyone knew what that meant. The paramedics hastily began CPR while John's heart dropped and nestled somewhere around the region of his stomach._

_"Sherlock‼ Don't you do this to me! Don't you leave! Don't you do this to me you bastard! Don't –"_

The hand that was holding his squeezed slightly, and John was instantly wide awake.

"Sherlock?" his voice was soft, almost a whisper. The detective's eyes slowly fluttered open, focusing immediately on John.

"Hi John" he said with a small quirk of his lips.

"Hi" was all John could say in response, his heart had swelled up and seemed to take up half his throat. He hadn't realised how scared, no, terrified he was that he had lost him, for real this time. He smiled with massive relief, "Hi Sherlock."

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Okay there you have it. I hope you guys like it, I did put the first bit of major JohnLock in it :D The offer from last chapter still stands, If you review, you get a preview of the next chap as soon as I've written it, and you will receive it at least a day before I post the rest.. So thank you for reading, and review! Tell me what you think J Love you guys :D


	10. Chapter 10

Woooo! Ten chapters guys! I am so so _so _sorry for the wait, I have no idea what happened but for some reason whenever I tried to upload this to the site and save it, it didn't work. So I couldn't put it as the new chapter. But I shall endeavour to update more regularly for you guys. I hope you guys like this chapter :)

Disclaimer: anything you recognise is not mine yada yada yada. The poem is A Poison Tree by William Blake.

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_I was angry with my friend:_

_ I told my wrath, my wrath did end._

_ I was angry with my foe: _

_I told it not, my wrath did grow. _

_ And I watered it in fears, _

_Night and morning with my tears; _

_Anike swapd I sunned it with smiles, _

_And with soft deceitful wiles. _

_And it grew both day and night,_

_ Till it bore an apple bright. _

_And my foe beheld it shine._

_ And he knew that it was mine, _

_ And into my garden stole _

_When the night had veiled the pole;_

_ In the morning glad I see _

_My foe outstretched beneath the tree._

_-William Blake_

The nurses and other medical staff had finished all their testing and checks, and had apparently decided that John was okay to go in. Finally. He had been waiting in the hall outside Sherlock's room, most certainly not patiently. His pacing and agitated movements drew the annoyed eye of the secretary down the hall more than once.

"Sir, would you please sit down?" she called to him, again, but sighed thankfully that she didn't have to endure the relentless fidgeting any longer when the doctor exited Sherlock's room. He analysed the situation at once and decided to skip the chatter, and just give it to him straight up.

"He's had a serious infection and we had to intubate him. As you know, he experienced cardiac arrest in the ambulance; we managed to get his heart to resume normal cardiac rhythm, although we had to give him some transfusions; he's lost a lot of blood. We had to re-open his wound to clean it thoroughly, and it had now been stitched up. From what we could tell, he has had this wound for about 3 weeks. Stuff like this needs to be attended to as soon as possible, if you hadn't arrived and called when you did, it would have been too late." He sized up the smaller man in front of him, visibly agitated and obviously anxious to go in. John's eyes flicked to the door again, he had scarcely been able to draw his eyes away from it. The doctor sighed and looked over John, who had scarcely heard a word he had said.

"You can go in now, he's asking for you." John brushed past him without another word. He had gotten more and more anxious out in the hall, his mind replaying, again and again, walking into the apartment and finding him there, so pale, so … still. He walked into that room and saw Sherlock, looking so weak, so vulnerable, so… unlike Sherlock, something just snapped and he panicked.

"What were you thinking Sherlock? You could have died! You could have ended up in a coma! What the bloody hell were you thinking?!" Sherlock opened his mouth in slight shock,

"John … I –" words seemed to fail him for a moment, and this seemed to only infuriate John further. He was now standing over the bed, almost looming.

"This is the second time – the **second** time, that I have seen you in a situation like this. You don't understand how what you do impacts on me! You don't understand how it feels when I see you like this. You mean so much to me Sherlock, you can't just go running around with no thought to the consequences, and WHY didn't you tell me about this?! Why didn't you tell **someone** about this? You've had this for three weeks and you haven't gotten **any** treatment; you've almost DIED Sherlock!" John paused, breathing heavily," you need to think about the consequences of your actions, particularly for those around you. I'm not always going to be there in time Sherlock. I'm not always going to be able to save you." Sherlock looked startled at John's outburst.

"But you did, John. You saved me. You always do."

Sherlock had obviously said the wrong thing, John's expression changed to almost rage. "No, I don't, you idiot. Or did you forget? The last time I stormed off, did you 'delete' that? Because I bloody well don't think I ever can, or will. And then you decided to put me through it AGAIN" he paused, taking a shuddering breath, and knelt down next to the bed, resting his forehead against Sherlock's shoulder, ignoring the detective's slight sound of surprise "I can't anymore. I can't deal with you doing this. I can't lose you again. I just can't I can't do this, you can't _keep_ doing this—" he was abruptly cut off by a hand stroking his hair.

"You CAN," Sherlock said, his voice almost soft, but just as insistent. "You will." He gently pulled on John's hair to bring his face next to Sherlock's

"You can't just—"

"You WILL," Sherlock insisted and to his dismay, something wet pooled at the corners of his eyes. Sentimental. So very, very sentimental.

But John inhaled sharply at the sight of the tears. He allowed himself to be moved, shifting his legs to get more comfortable.

"I'm here," Sherlock said and he was embarrassed to realize his voice was trembling. "I'm HERE, John—you can't leave, and I can't let you. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere"

John drew in another unsteady breath and there was a question in his eyes, one Sherlock answered with a simple nod and, to his embarrassment, a slight reddening to his cheeks.

"I know," John said finally. "Oh God, Sherlock-I know, really I do."

"Stay here," Sherlock said softly. "We can- we can fix this."

John pulled away, frowned down at him. "Who said it was broken?"

"Isn't it?"

John bit his lip. "I don't know. Maybe."

"Stay anyways," Sherlock suggested; though he wasn't entirely sure for whose sake he was suggesting it, not anymore. "Because- I – I need –" He hesitated, the ending to that sentence sticking in his throat, suddenly too little, too simple to describe his emotions towards the man now next to him, holding him.

He tried it again. "I need you."

John looked at him for a long moment and perhaps he understood what Sherlock had meant underneath those simple, inadequate words. Because his mouth tightened and he leaned down and kissed Sherlock's lips, firmly, sweetly. Sherlock sighed into his mouth, tugged him close. Their lips slid against each other, scarcely more than a brush, but it was far more intimate then it ought to have been, the exhale of John's breath into his open mouth. Presumptuous, maybe, but John hadn't been wrong. No, because he was brilliant.

They were brilliant.

* * *

Thanks for reading guys, you guys are wonderful for sticking around this long :D As I said at the start, I'm going to try update more often, and regularly, so every fortnight I'll update. I'm sorry it's so long, but with school and everything, I have to be realistic :P Please review guys, you know I love it, and maybe come up with some suggestions for future chapters? :D


	11. Chapter 11

I'm just going to get on with it, here's the next chapter guys :D

Disclaimer: not mine, the poem is "Night" by Wole Soyinka :)

* * *

_Your hand is heavy, Night, upon my brow._

_I bear no heart mercuric like the clouds,_

_to dare._

_Exacerbation from your subtle plough._

_Woman as a clam, on the sea's crescent._

_I saw your jealous eye quench the sea's_

_Fluorescence, dance on the pulse incessant_

_Of the waves. And I stood, drained_

_Submitting like the sands, blood and brine_

_Coursing to the roots. Night, you rained_

_Serrated shadows through dank leaves_

_Till, bathed in warm suffusion of your dappled cells_

_ Sensations pained me, faceless, silent as night thieves._

_Hide me now, when night children haunt the earth_

_I must hear none! These misted cells will yet_

_Undo me; naked, unbidden, at Night's muted birth._

_-Wole Soyinka_

John wasn't quite sure of how long it had lasted; it could have one minute, it could have been one hour, but slowly they became aware of what had just happened.

A dry , slightly amused cough interrupted them and they sprang apart, well, John leapt back his cheeks flaming, preparing to stutter an explanation, or perhaps an apology, while Sherlock merely settled back into his reclined position, with a self-satisfied expression on his smug face, and turned to address their interruptor, leaning on his umbrella with an air of stern amusement.

"Yes Mycroft? Is there some matter which requires our immediate presence and response?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"Am I not allowed to check up on my little brother to see how he is doing after almost dying? A second time, I may add?" the tone was light but the underlying current of accusation was sharp and John visibly flinched, Sherlock glanced at him and his expression hardened slightly.

"I have already explained, I do not take kindly to you teasing the healing of old wounds , _brother_." Sherlock's tone was icy, the last word hurled bitingly at the other.

"Unfortunate choice of words there Sherlock, maybe one should deal with the wounds closer to oneself before you get distracted and you find yourself _bleeding out_." With that sharp, biting response, Mycroft whirled around and exited the room.

"Hmm, curious." Sherlock mused in the direction of the door. John turned to look at him, stress and unease lining his features.

"Curious? What the hell was that?! That is the most emotion I have ever seen from that man, what the bloody hell lead to that Sherlock?! I suppose you know, mister 'i-know-everything-because-I-observe', don't you? Go on then, tell me, you know you want to" John slumped down into the bedside chair; he was now rather tired, and waved at Sherlock to go on, propping his head up with his other hand.

"It appears the _brother dear_, has been quite concerned about, one might even say worried. Like a mother hen if a chick goes missing." Sherlock's tone grew thoughtful, "Perhaps my original disappearance impacted him more than I thought, and now this new development has worsened his anxiety. I must apologize to him, I only saw that he was bringing up events that hurt you John, and I –" he paused, looking down at the man now sleeping with his head on his arm; the expended energy of his furious speech earlier taking its toll, along with the night of restlessness, and scarce anxious sleep. Sherlock reached out and gently manoeuvred one of his extra pillows under John's head, and softly brushed the hair out of his face. In sleep he looked younger, the lines of exhaustion and stress smoothed out, his tense expression now calm. Sherlock glanced around for any possible onlookers, and gently pressed his lips against John's temple. Sighing, he settled back and closed his eyes, his face relaxing into a contented expression.

`-`-`-`-`-`-`-`-`-`-`-`-`-`-`-`-`-`-`-`-`-`-Many hours later-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'- '-'

John blearily looked around, why was he on Sherlock's bed? Well, he silently amended, half on it at least. He carefully extracted himself from Sherlock's arms, being sue not to wake him; he barely got enough sleep as it was, and he looked far too peaceful for John to disturb.

Finally managing to extract himself without disrupting the peacefully sleeping detective, John made his way to the hall,.

Ignoring the curious glances of the nurses he passed, they couldn't say anything anyway; he quickly headed out of the ward, and hailed a taxi.

"Baker Street, 221B, quickly as you can please." He didn't want Sherlock to wake up in his absence.

`-`-`-`-`-`-`-`-`-`-`-`-`-`-`-`-`-`-`-`-`-`-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'

Meanwhile Sherlock, noting John's absence before he opened his eyes, quickly took advantage of the situation. He edged his phone out from where he had hidden it between the mattress and the bed support, and dialled a familiar number.

"Yes Sherlock?" came the quiet, slightly drained voice.

"What was that earlier? Don't give me any bullshit either. I need the truth Mycroft." Sherlock heard him sigh.

"If you must," resignation evident in his tone, "but not on the phone, if it is anywhere, it must be in person; there are things that must not be spoken in public. I will meet you at Baker Street at the earliest time possible after you return." Sherlock's eyebrow rose exponentially; whatever it was, it must be important for Mycroft to meet him instead of the other way round.

"Very well, I await your call." Without waiting for a response, he ended the call; John would be getting back soon and he couldn't risk him being suspicious.

* * *

Okay, this one is a bit shorter, but I promise to make it up to you guys next chapter. I may not be able to update that often now, I have exams in 5 weeks, but I will update when I can :) hope you guys enjoyed it, review and you get a cookie :D and a big hug and thank you everyone still reading this :)


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